sleepy time denials

there’s no way to win an argument with you
the only woman I know who breathes in lullabies

I can’t get my message across to you
your walls are made of sleep and
your tears have formed a moat around your body;
a barrier I’m too exhausted to cross.




capricious lovers (pt. 1)

we’re both guilty in our steps
as we walk the avenues of Brooklyn,
through icy winds, careful in avoiding
the fallen leaves on the ground,
in fear of breaking their hearts too.




these astronauts

from outer space, we return,
undernourished and
scared to death

with our unpaid taxes
and lawns that the paperboy forgot to mow
and our wives, who have long since married their mirrors

from deep space, we return,
and before the sight of Earth
becomes a piece of us,
we intelligently eject
back
into
it
all
for no greater reason than
the quiet.


Josh Thompson is a poet and short story writer living in Rockaway Beach, NY. His work has appeared in The Ugly Tree, The Coe Review, Thick With Conviction, Pawpers, Drown in My Own Fears and Poetry Superhighway. Sober for five months now, the words have turned ugly in his head. Putting them down on paper has helped so far, but he's not entirely convinced.